End of the Line
by sincerelymendacious
Summary: Maloof experiences the worst ride of his life.


_How many goddamn potholes are on this road?_ Maloof thought as he bounced uncomfortably in his seat. It was the fifth one that the bus had driven over, and it was doing his queasy stomach no favors. The sick feeling had come over him shortly after this awful ride had begun, and Maloof didn't know if it was the bumpy road, the smell of stale booze and body odor that permeated throughout the bus, or if it was just the reason that he was enduring public transit to begin with that had caused his nausea. He swallowed thickly and hoped that Elka, sitting next to him with her hands folded in her lap, hadn't overheard his thoughts or picked up on how close he was to losing his lunch.

They were three stops away from her destination.

Honestly, Maloof would've just driven her to where she wanted to go, had she asked him. He wouldn't have minded. Well, no, that was not true, this situation was horrible and he minded every bit of it, but his car would've been a much safer and more comfortable way to get to the shitty apartment in the shitty neighborhood that shitty Nils Lutefisk lived in. She hadn't asked him. She hadn't asked him to accompany her either. He had followed her when she had left his house, all the way to the bus stop, and right onto the dull and dingy vehicle. He told himself that he was only doing it to ensure that she got there safely (and that had been smart, given the overall appearance of their fellow passengers) but the sad truth was that this was him making one last-ditch effort to change her mind. So far, that effort had been sorely lacking, as they hadn't exchanged a single word since they had left his house.

The bus came to a rough stop, the brakes squealing loudly. The force of it pitched him forward, and he put out a hand to stop himself from smacking into the seat in front of him. There was only one person at this stop, a shabby-looking older man with hair like steel wool. Maloof ground his teeth as the man lumbered to his seat, issuing greetings to the passengers familiar to him, his slow gait grating on Maloof's nerves. Finally, after what seemed like an agonizingly long time, the man sat in the seat across from him and Elka, giving them a friendly nod that was not returned before settling in. The bus shuddered back to life and off they went, down a street bordered by crumbling homes and businesses offering increasingly sketchy services the further they went.

They were two stops away now. As they passed by an adult bookstore with a vulgar sign illuminating an equally vulgar name, Maloof wondered why this was happening for what seemed like the millionth time since Elka had announced that she was leaving him and going back to Nils. Again. He tore his gaze away from the window and looked at her elegant profile, wanting to burn the image of her permanently on his brain like a brand. She was staring straight ahead, her lovely face set in a way that reminded him of the statue of Venus his father had in the courtyard of the family manor. Her fingers were twisting the white fabric of her dress, and oh God, Maloof felt a pang when he realized that it was the one he had bought her a month before. There was no way that the grimy seats hadn't stained it, and it was all because her new (or was it old?)boyfriend apparently didn't care enough to come get her himself. Maloof clenched his fists as resentment welled up in his chest. The dress, a gauzy, short-sleeved garment that framed her slender figure beautifully, was no doubt ruined, and it was all Nils Lutefisk's fault. Add that to the list of reasons Maloof despised him, a list that, if actually written out on paper, would be longer than the Sicilian coastline.

They arrived at the next stop. The would-be passengers, two winos by the looks of them, were both asleep on the bench. The driver shut the door on them and moved on. Just one stop left now. An intense pain rocketed through his heart and he clutched his chest, suddenly short of breath. Was he having a heart attack, here on this grey bus full of grey people? The thought made him strangely giddy. If that was the case, if that was what the source of this searing pain that had seized his chest was, than that meant that he'd have more time with her. She wouldn't leave him to die here alone- she was too good to do that. She would let her stop pass her by and lay his head in her lap, stroking his hair, whispering that it would all be alright, that she would stay with him as they loaded him up into the ambulance…

The pain faded almost as soon as it had manifested, the wild fantasy along with it, and all that remained was nausea and disappointment. The next few minutes passed by numbly, as though that flash of agony had merely been all of his anger and dread vaporizing into nothing.

Then the bus finally reached her stop. Time itself seemed to slow, and the sound of the brakes rang in his ears. The door opened and Elka rose in time with it, stiffly gathering up her things. He shouldn't have taken the window seat, he realized as he watched her miserably. He should have sat on the inside, if he had he could have simply blocked her exit long enough for the bus driver to get fed up with waiting and drive off before she could depart.

A group of fast-food workers took up the aisle as they headed towards the back, unintentionally giving Maloof some extra time. He snatched her by the hand, his grip tight, just before the last of the boarding passengers walked by. "Don't go," he pleaded, too desperate to care about the hitch in his voice. "Don't go back to him." He leaned forward and kissed her hand, tears welling up in his eyes.

She didn't look back, but she didn't pull away. He thought he saw her shoulders tremble, and hope alighted in his heart at the sight. The hope died when she turned her head- her eyes were devoid of their usual brightness, but there was also resolve and resignation in them and in an instant Maloof knew that there was nothing he could do to stop her from getting off of this bus. She opened her mouth, and then closed it, biting down on her bottom lip. A second passed and then she twisted her wrist, freeing herself from his hold. "I have to," she said, her voice raw and barely audible (and yet the words echoed in his mind as though she had shouted them at the top of her lungs). He could only watch as she sped down the aisle and off the bus. As the bus pulled away he saw her dart down the street and into an old apartment building not too far from the bus stop. Then she was gone. Just like that.

The numbness from before returned as the bus continued onward to only who knew where. Maybe the old man, staring at him with pity, knew where this bus was going. Maloof sure as hell didn't. Were there tears trailing down his cheeks? He couldn't feel any, couldn't feel much of anything, but he brought a hand up to his face anyway, rubbing hard enough to sting the skin. He sat there for a minute or two, too lost within the mire of his own misery to notice his surroundings.

Laughter erupted from the back, abruptly reminding him of where he was. He jerked his head towards the noise, convinced that they were mocking his heartbreak and his weakness. But no, they were merely joking among themselves, perhaps about the customers they had had throughout the night. His personal tragedy was of no importance to anybody but him. As he turned away, his eyes made contact with his neighbor's across the aisle. The old man smiled at him in an attempt to convey some sort of camaraderie between them. "Dames," he said, shrugging and shaking his head knowingly. "What can you do?"

That was it. Maloof reached up and pulled the signal cord. The last thing he wanted was whatever 'sage wisdom' this shoddily-dressed stranger had to offer him. The bus came to a screeching halt. Maloof shot up from his seat and stormed off the bus, ignoring the driver's irritated glare. The nausea that had been plaguing him for the past half-hour caught up with him the second his expensive leather loafers hit the sidewalk, and he promptly vomited against the closest building. The pedestrians around him walked by without even glancing at him, this being a part of town where such sights were common. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, not caring if he stained the sleeve of his shirt.

The stench of his puke was covered by the stench of everything else in this shady, poorly-maintained section of town that he had somehow wound up smack dab in the middle of. On his own, no less. On any other night, such a scenario would have caused fear to creep throughout his whole body. This night, however, he would have welcomed a fight, would have gladly risked being beaten or stabbed, would have endured any sort of physical pain if it meant distraction from the anguish of losing the only he woman he loved to somebody incapable of appreciating her the way she deserved. He looked around, his eyes darting from one corner of the street to the next, daring somebody to try him. Nobody took him up, too worn down by their own daily lives to spare a thought for him.

He spat into a nearby gutter and took the fancy silver cigarillo case his uncle had gotten him for his birthday out of his coat pocket. Smoking was not something he often did (Elka hated how the smell of smoke would linger on his clothing) but there was a nasty taste in his mouth that he needed to get rid of. His pyrokinesis was shaky, and in the process of lighting it he burned almost half of it away.

The smooth, smoky flavor of the tobacco and the burn he felt as he inhaled soothed his nerves, but did little to alleviate his melancholy. He looked back the way he had come as he blew smoke out, thinking. Elka was not far from him, only a few blocks away at most. He thought he could see the apartment building from where he stood, though it was hard to tell one moldy-looking building from the next. It would be so easy, and so satisfying, to march over there, bash in Nils' door and then do the same to his stupid blond head. Maloof stayed put and took another drag on his cigarillo. As much as he would have loved to cause Nils bodily harm, he knew that it would not bring Elka back to him.

There was a liquor store across the street, its sign casting a sickly yellow hue on the storefront. Maloof flicked his stub away and took his cell phone out. Informing his personal driver of his whereabouts turned out to be an ordeal- he had no idea where he was, and his description of the liquor store was too generic for his driver to pinpoint his location. He eventually managed to get an actual address by reading the mind of a stranger passing him by. The information relayed, he ended the call and made his way to the store, narrowly avoiding getting hit by a white station wagon as he crossed the street. He entered the store with thirty minutes to browse, enough money to buy all the store's stock in his wallet, and the need to consume as much booze as he could in one night.


End file.
